


Edge of Light

by quiettoxic



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Anal Sex, Hair-pulling, Multi, Pegging, Rough Sex, Threesome - F/M/M, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-09
Updated: 2019-12-09
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:33:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21596923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quiettoxic/pseuds/quiettoxic
Summary: What would be the mostmatureway for Erzsébet and Dragos to work off some of their tension? Stefan has his ideas.
Relationships: Bulgaria/Hungary/Romania (Hetalia)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 17





	Edge of Light

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, welcome to my very cursed content! I have... No excuse for this, and no real explanation either, other than that I sort of jokingly started shipping Bul and Hun but you know how it goes (I am desperate for content now) and then Ro (who might be my favorite character, is certainly my favorite male character) was feeling left out, I guess, and my mind went, ‘Listen……… Hot angry sex………’ and the rest is history. 
> 
> This could be a human AU or the canon universe using human names, I left it vague on purpose bc I know it bothers some people when explicit scenes use country names... It's never bothered me honestly! Maybe because English isn't my native language so there's a bit more of a disconnect there? 
> 
> Anyway sooo Bulgaria is Stefan, Hungary is Erzsébet, and Romania is Dragos!

It’s very unusual for anyone to listen when Stefan speaks. Erzsébet will be the first to admit that she doesn’t often give a fuck.

This time, however, she heard him loud and clear.

Dragos heard too, judging by the way he’s gone tense where she’s got him pressed against the table, her hands wrung tight in his shirt and his fingers stilled on her wrists.

“ _What_?” he eventually bursts.

Stefan’s gaze barely flicks to them before he focuses on his stack of papers, marking something off with a ballpoint pen as he replies.

“I said, can’t you two settle this in a mature way?”

“That is _not_ what you damn well said, Borisov,” Erzsébet says, letting go of Dragos to turn to him instead. She can see, even though he’s bent over the table and scribbling intently, that a corner of his mouth twitches. The emotion behind it is indiscernible.

“Technically—” Dragos starts, but she glares at him, and he shuts up with a sneer.

“He’s right, I can’t think of a more mature way,” Stefan says mildly. He scratches something out and writes something else in tiny script next to it.

“You suggested we should _fuck_!” she yells. “You can’t just fucking tell people to fuck!”

He looks up at her, green eyes intent. “It was _just_ a suggestion, Erzsébet.”

Both Erzsébet and Dragos watch silently, rather dumbstruck, while Stefan gathers his belongings and stashes them in his bag, stands, and straightens his suit jacket. His tie remains crooked. The three of them are the last people left in the meeting hall, with Erzsébet and Dragos too busy arguing to leave, and Stefan either actually finishing something or just waiting to make indecent suggestions. He turns to the both of them.

“Maybe you should think about it,” he says, as pleasantly as if he were inviting someone for lunch.

“Absolutely not!” Erzsébet says at the same time that Dragos bursts out with, “No _fucking_ way!”

They glare at each other, probably for too long—it’s long enough, at least, that Erzsébet startles when Stefan is suddenly next to her, well in her personal space. He smells like cigarette smoke and some sort of spicy perfume.

“This is what I’m tired of,” he says, voice low, breath whispering across her temple. She stands still and swallows, her eyes still narrowed at Dragos, whose gaze drifts over her shoulder up to Stefan.

He steps closer to her, and she can’t find it in herself to move because, damn, this is interesting. Stefan Borisov is a mild-mannered guy most of the time, downright shy around people he doesn’t know well; this is a side of him she’s never even thought about before.

His lips are nearly against her ear.

“It’s like you two are off in your own world all the _fucking_ time. I can’t go one meeting without catching you staring at each other.”

Erzsébet wants to retort something snappy—it’s not like she stares at Dragos’s dumb, pointy face because it’s _attractive_ and the suggestion is frankly insulting—but his hands are on her hips all of a sudden, and Dragos’s gaze is intent on the two of them. Stefan huffs into her hair.

“Think about it,” he repeats, and then he’s peeled himself away from her and is crowding Dragos instead, almost nose-to-nose, and Erzsébet watches Dragos’s throat work as Stefan speaks in hushed tones too low for her to understand.

And then, that’s over too, and Stefan is striding towards the double doors of the meeting room with certainty, swinging his backpack over one shoulder as he goes.

“What the fuck!” Erzsébet calls after him.

“I’ll be around,” he just says, right before he pushes the doors open and disappears into the hallway.

“What the fuck,” she repeats faintly.

“I know, right?” Dragos says. He’s tugging at his earlobe when she looks at him, biting his lip at the same time, forehead wrinkled in confusion. He blinks at her.

“And I am _not_ having sex with you,” she tells him, just so he knows.

“Good.”

“ _Good_.”

* * *

There is no good explanation for why, after dinner, a shower, and a long time lying on her bed staring at the bland ceiling of her hotel room, Erzsébet finds herself in front of the room assigned to Stefan.

She’s about to knock when there’s a sharp intake of breath down the hall, followed by a distinctive dry cough.

“What are you doing here?” she asks without looking up, pressing the palm of her hand against the door.

“I could ask you the same thing,” Dragos says, his voice hoarse as always. His footsteps are soft down the carpeted hall as he comes closer.

Erzsébet looks up at him; his hair is slightly damp, curling against his too-sharp jaw at the ends, its usual indefinable shade of light brown darkened.

 _She_ isn’t even sure what she’s doing here, in the comfortable clothes she put on after her shower, but she’s not about to let Dragos fucking Bălan stop her, so she turns away from him and raps her knuckles against the door of Stefan’s room perhaps a little too violently.

Dragos stays where he is, permeating the air around her with the smell of cinnamon. It’s always unexpectedly nice, and she hates it.

The door opens, and Stefan has evidently just showered as well. He’s wearing a threadbare green dressing gown that leaves an inordinate amount of chest hair on display, and smiles when he sees the two of them standing in the hallway.

“To what do I owe this pleasure?”

Erzsébet finds herself looking up at Dragos again, but the man only shrugs. She repeats the gesture in Stefan’s direction. He huffs.

“Come in.”

They do, shuffling into the room. Erzsébet feels a little unsure of herself, which is very rare, but really, this situation is unprecedented. Stefan shuts the door behind them.

“I guess you thought about it,” he says, and his fingers ghost across Erzsébet’s hip as he passes. She puts her hand on it demonstratively.

“Absolutely not,” she replies, even though that’s a blatant lie. She couldn’t fucking _stop_ thinking about it.

Dragos snorts, and she turns to glare at him. In an instant, Stefan is at her back again, running his fingers down her arms. She breathes in, holding Dragos’s rust-brown gaze while Stefan’s eternal stubble rasps against her jaw.

“Are you sure?” he asks, hardly more than a breath. “I bet Dragos thought about it. Hm, Dra?”

“Yes,” he breathes in response, his gaze still on Erzsébet, who can’t help but tilt her head back ever so slightly. Dragos drifts closer.

“See?” Stefan’s fingers tangle through hers. “You really didn’t think about it, Erzsébet? Leaving your mark on him, making him _beg_?”

Dragos makes a sound that might very well be a whimper. Erzsébet abruptly registers that she’s closed her eyes and wrenches them open to look at him, his blown pupils in the low light of the bedside lamps, the shadows of his lashes on his sharp cheekbones. _Man, did she ever think about that._ Before today as well, if she’s honest with herself.

“Jesus _Christ_ ,” she says, and then jerks herself free from Stefan to hook her fingers in the collar of Dragos’s T-shirt, which she tugs at until it stretches so far it almost rips and has Dragos leaning over until his wispy hair touches her face. His breathing is heavy, mingles with her own.

“Well?” he asks, his voice even hoarser than it normally is, very nearly grating.

“Oh, fuck you.”

“Sounds promising,” Stefan says behind her, and Dragos’s gaze flicks up to him, which just won’t fucking do, so Erzsébet pushes her fingers up into the hollow of his throat, then drags her nails across the side of his neck and digs them into the angle of his jaw.

He looks back at her. Stefan’s breath is audible.

Dragos yanks at her wrist, pulling her arm back until she’s flush against him, and then he dips his head as if to kiss her, but instead, he scrapes his teeth over her jaw, her pulse point, and she can’t help but jerk in his grasp. Her free hand, she tangles in the hair at the base of his head, and when he lets go of her wrist to do the same to her, she uses the blunt nails of the other hand to rake a path down his back, underneath his T-shirt.

She grins at nothing when he growls against her skin, but when she huffs an actual laugh, he abruptly straightens and glares down at her. Erzsébet just smirks and continues to run her nails across his skin. His eyelids flutter. Of course he likes that.

This time, when he leans over, he does kiss her, if it can be called that at all when they bite each other’s lips and their teeth clack together more than once, and Dragos is tugging on her hair the whole time. Still, it sparks through her body in a way few things do.

Without meaning to, Erzsébet stumbles backwards, into Stefan’s chest. His hands are instantly on her hips again when she arches against him, Dragos still pushing. In a way, she’s trapped between them, but she knows that, even though they’re both taller than she is, she’s probably stronger than both of them, and besides… She _wants_ to be here, whether she understands why or not.

Dragos pulls away and barely gives her a moment to take in his slick, bitten red lips or the honest-to-god trickle of blood running down his chin—that she probably should _not_ find as hot as she does—before he presses up over her shoulder and kisses Stefan with the same aggression, sharp teeth on the man’s lips, swallowing his surprised gasp. Erzsébet licks her own lips as she watches, tasting copper. Dragos’s hand remains tangled in her hair.

It takes a second before Stefan really catches up, but when he does, he presses himself tighter against her and slides his hands up her waist. Her shirt rides up. Dragos grins, pulling on Stefan’s lower lip with his teeth. Both of them are getting hard, Erzsébet can feel them push against her back and front, and she can’t deny the thrill of arousal in her own body.

Worming both hands between her and Dragos’s bodies, she grabs on to the collar of his stupid T-shirt and _rips_.

“What the _fuck_?” he pants, stumbling backwards and glaring at her, but she just smirks and takes the opportunity to reach back, wind an arm around Stefan’s neck, and kiss him, aware that she’s exposing her throat to the man with the possibly slightly vampiric tendencies.

Stefan’s stubble scrapes against her skin. His hands are restless on her stomach and his mouth hot and wet, and then Dragos is, as expected, sucking harsh kisses into the skin of her neck until she gasps against Stefan, breaking away from him and just leaning her head on his shoulder instead.

Dragos drags his teeth down her neck while Stefan works his hands up underneath her shirt, his breathing harsh in her ear. His fingers are callused and bony and fit around the curve of her breasts pretty much perfectly, but Erzsébet needs some more control over the situation—like hell is she going to let _anyone_ , let alone these two, manhandle her like this—so she yanks on Dragos’s hair to get him to stop. He does, yelping.

“ _Don’t_ pull my hair!”

Stefan’s hands stop their movement. Erzsébet looks up at Dragos.

“What?” she asks.

“I’m serious,” he says, rubbing his scalp. “You can do fucking anything to me, but don’t pull on my hair.”

“You pulled _my_ hair!” she hisses, but before he can reply to that, Stefan has quickly withdrawn a hand from her shirt and yanked her head back by the hair in question, and fuck if that isn’t a moan slipping from her mouth.

“The obvious difference here,” Stefan says, voice low, “is that you like it.”

She hears Dragos chuckle and wants to tilt her head back to glare at him but finds that Stefan has a tight grip on her hair, so she turns the look on him instead. His green eyes are darkened, his hair a mess, and Erzsébet reckons she looks much the same.

“Fuck, alright. No pulling on Bălan’s hair.”

“Good,” Stefan says, releasing hers.

Dragos is standing close still, his T-shirt ripped all the way to the bottom to expose a skinny chest, obvious tan lines at his collar and over the waistband of his low-slung track pants. Erzsébet can’t imagine him at the beach. He seems more like the type to spend his time in creepy cellars or something like that. He’d probably consider it a compliment if she told him that, so she doesn’t.

Instead, she turns around to face Stefan.

“What about you?”

“This isn’t about me,” he replies.

“Fuck that, Stefan,” Dragos says. “Would we be here if not for you, you think?”

Erzsébet nods slightly in his direction, agreeing with him. Stefan pulls a helpless face, shaking his head, then gasps when Dragos reaches around Erzsébet and tugs the knot of his bathrobe loose in a smooth movement, letting the green fabric splay on either side of Stefan’s chest.

“I—” he starts, but says nothing else because Erzsébet and Dragos both start tugging the robe off his shoulders, in unison as if they’ve planned it, and he lets it fall.

Dragos hums as he leans forward, lips on the shell of her ear. His breath is searing hot, and so is his skin when he puts his hands over both of hers and pushes them against Stefan’s chest, raking their fingers through his chest hair. She can feel his heart thundering against her palm just as she can feel Dragos’s cock press into the small of her back through his pants. When he frees one of her hands, it’s to pull her head back and mouth at her neck again, along the cut of her jaw, biting down gently on her earlobe.

“Fuck,” she breathes, and Dragos chuckles again, running his tongue along the shell of her ear.

Both her hands are freed when he starts working up her shirt like Stefan had been doing, albeit with less subtlety, so she runs them down over Stefan’s chest to his hips, licking her lips at the impressive bulge in his boxers.

Dragos pushes her shirt up over her breasts and scratches at the delicate skin around her nipples before pinching them between his thin fingers, humming contentedly at her answering gasp. Erzsébet growls and pushes her hands into Stefan’s underwear brusquely, and then both she and Dragos make _extremely_ undignified sounds when his cock springs free of its confines.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Stef,” Dragos says, rocking his own erection against Erzsébet’s back, and Stefan, bless his heart, is actually _blushing_ , although he makes no move to shield his cock—his, to put it mildly, _pretty_ _large_ cock—from their no doubt equally prying gazes. He does shuffle his legs until his boxers fall to the floor, then steps out of them and flings them away with one foot, and then he’s the only one who’s completely naked, so Erzsébet obligingly raises her arms to let Dragos tug her shirt off.

After that, she wraps her hand around Stefan’s cock, feeling its pulsing heat twitch under her palm when she moves in a languid rhythm. Stefan bites hit lip, and she sees his Adam’s apple bob in his stubbly throat when he swallows.

Hands on her stomach again, tracing the outlines of her tattoos. Both Dragos and Stefan touch her; the latter cups her ass over her shorts while the former plays with a nipple as he tugs her head back again and kisses her messily, until she arches between them with one hand on Stefan’s cock and the other on Dragos’s neck. She pants into his mouth. Moans when Stefan steps out of her reach only to put his mouth on the same nipple Dragos is toying with and heat ripples through her body.

As Stefan kisses and licks down her stomach, she buries one hand in his short hair. He hums against her skin.

Dragos pushes his already-slick fingers against her lips, still holding her head back by her hair, and Erzsébet glares at him before opening her mouth and biting down on the digits shoved into them none too gently. He growls deep in his throat and gives her hair a sharp tug, then chuckles sardonically when she moans—she can’t help it. Stefan is running his fingers and mouth across her thighs.

“Fuck you,” she pants, and Dragos smiles with too many teeth.

“Don’t get your hopes up.” He tweaks one of her nipples sharply, and then Stefan is abruptly tugging her shorts and panties down so that Dragos can push those fingers down on either side of her clit, making her twitch and swear between them.

The air of the hotel room is cold against her damp, heated skin. Stefan works her shorts down until she can step out of them, and then his stubble rasps at her thighs again, his hot breath wafts maddeningly close to where she wants him, but he just grabs Dragos’s bony wrist and looks up at both of them with dark eyes, never looking away as he rises and leans over Erzsébet’s shoulder to address Dragos in a low growl.

“Take off your _fucking_ clothes.”

Erzsébet hears the man’s breath stutter and feels his cock twitch, and then he’s stumbling back to clumsily work his ruined shirt off and fumble with his track pants.

“Get to the bed,” Stefan whispers in her ear, and she looks up at him curiously. She’d never have pegged him for the dominant type, really, but he seems to have his moments of certainty. It’s kind of hot, she’ll admit.

“Yes, _sir_ ,” she says jokingly, and rakes her nails across his chest as she goes and sits on the edge of the double bed—which, unfair. Her room has a single.

Dragos and Stefan follow quickly—Dragos drags Stefan into another bruising kiss in front of her, and she grins at the nail tracks across his back, absently rubbing herself a couple of times. Dragos’s cock is probably about average-sized, a little on the thin side, but it looks small compared to Stefan’s as they press up against each other.

“Boys,” she drawls, splaying back on her elbows, “do I get a go?”

Dragos narrows his eyes at her, and she smirks.

“Do you _ever_ ,” he says, and he’s abruptly pushing away from Stefan to lean over her instead, his hands on her knees parting her legs.

She lets him. Lets him scratch his nails up her thighs, press her hips into the thin mattress, because she’s curious what he’ll do. So is Stefan, it seems, because he just stands there, watching them as Dragos pushes her further up the bed, tugs the sheets out from underneath her and flings them aside. Dragos’s legs are as skinny as the rest of him, pointy knees poking into her shins. The smudge of blood on his chin has dried, and Erzsébet reaches for it, swiping it away with her thumb.

Dragos blinks. She grins. Runs her thumb over her own lower lip in an impulsive moment that pays off when the man growls and lunges forward to practically attack her mouth again, and good to know his apparent oral fixation runs both ways.

One of his hands is on her thigh. The other, unsurprisingly, tangles in her hair again, which must be an absolute mess by now, and Erzsébet can feel his cock slip against her thigh every now and then.

“Fuck,” she mutters into his mouth, putting both hands on Dragos’s chest and pushing him up and away, harshly flicking one of his nipples when he doesn’t immediately take the hint.

“Rude,” he comments, panting while he sits back on his knees between her legs.

“Yeah, well.” She seeks out Stefan, who seems to be in some sort of trance with his cock grasped loosely in one hand. “Borisov, we need at least one fucking condom here.”

He blinks. Shakes his head as if to clear his mind. Dragos and Erzsébet share an amused look, which is definitely a first.

“Stef,” Dragos tries.

“Yeah!” the man says. “Of course, I just…”

While he walks over to his bag, he makes a vague hand gesture, and Dragos laughs his hoarse laugh. Erzsébet can’t resist poking him in the side, leaving her hand on the warm skin there, fingertips on the ridge of a rib.

“I hope his condoms aren’t too big for you.”

In response, he pulls at her hair, and she laughs.

“You two getting along is terrifying,” Stefan informs them, coming back up from his bag with a whole strip of condoms, which he throws on the bed.

“We aren’t,” Erzsébet replies, making a grab for the strip and tearing one condom off, and then Dragos proves her right by trying to yank it from her grip, falling all over her when she holds it out of reach.

“Evidently.”

They struggle for the condom for a while, ignoring the rest right next to them, until Erzsébet somehow ends up kneeling across Dragos’s narrow abdomen, holding one of his arms down and pushing her ass against his cock. He’s panting underneath her, his hair in disarray on the mattress. She grinds her hips a little and pretends to inspect the condom she’s nonchalantly holding in her free hand. Dragos rakes his nails across her thigh.

“Well?”

As she opens her mouth to reply, the mattress dips, and then the condom is plucked from her fingers, her hair pushed over her shoulder at the same time. Stefan’s fingers slip over the skin of her neck.

“Too slow,” he informs her. Dragos sniggers. She flicks a nipple again, satisfied when that shuts him up.

Stefan pushes her forward a little bit. She looks over her shoulder, curiously, watching while he wraps his fingers around Dragos, who bucks under her and digs his nails into her thigh. Stefan huffs. Gives his cock a few quick pumps. When he draws back to open the condom, though, Erzsébet is distracted, because Dragos slides his free hand up, and then he’s cupping her, the heel of his hand grinding against her clit. His eyes look wild.

“Hm, very good,” Stefan mumbles, resting his chin on Erzsébet’s shoulder. She lets go of Dragos’s arm to wind hers around Stefan’s neck instead, rocking into Dragos’s hand as she drags Stefan into a kiss with her fingers in his hair. She reaches backwards blindly with her other hand and threads her fingers through Stefan’s around Dragos’s cock, grinning into his mouth when Dragos swears and bucks again, his hand twitching.

Stefan bites her lip. She growls and pulls him back, meeting his darkened eyes and breathing heavily. His eyebrows jump. She imagines it’s challenging, and rakes her fingers down his neck in response. He smirks.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Dragos moans, and Stefan is leaning over to drag his teeth over the man’s jaw and suck a new mark into his already battered neck. Dragos’s thin fingers still against Erzsébet, slackening, so she scoots backwards, over his legs, and grasps his cock, considering for a few moments while he watches her, eyes blazing over Stefan’s dark hair. Stefan, for his part, is moving down the man’s chest, lips dragging over his sharp collarbones.

With a hum, Erzsébet leans forward and does the same to the jut of his hip, adding her teeth and pressing her fingers down as well. She feels his legs twitch underneath her and grins, biting down.

“God,” Dragos breathes, and then he gasps. When Erzsébet looks up, he’s— _fuck_ —propping himself up slightly, looking up at Stefan while Stefan shuffles closer to him on the mattress, having apparently put a condom on as well, and then Dragos is watching her again, defiantly, while the man cradles his head and he puts his mouth on him. He puts one hand on Stefan’s hip while he wraps those thin lips around his cock and lets Stefan push, his eyes fluttering closed like he’s enjoying it—which he probably is.

Erzsébet makes an involuntary noise and curls her fingers, somehow unable to tear her gaze away until Stefan frees one of his hands and buries it in her hair instead, pushing her down to where Dragos’s cock curves up to his stomach. She gasps, and then she has to take him into her mouth, only looking away from Stefan’s cock for a few seconds to wrap her hand back around Dragos.

She can’t be outdone by him, even if it is in sucking fucking cock, so she doesn’t hesitate to swallow down as much of him as she can, scratching down his thigh with her left hand. Although he twitches and lets out a strangled sound around Stefan’s dick, he doesn’t pull back in the slightest, his throat working around the girth. Stefan’s fingers are clenching in her hair, and he doesn’t seem to know where to look, which she can’t blame him for.

Dragos looks—and she’s never imagined she’d think it, but if she had, it would have been under circumstances much like these, so maybe Stefan had a good point after all—he looks _incredible_ like that, squirming between the both of them but taking Stefan deep without seeming to pause for breath.

With a last drag of her mouth along Dragos’s cock, and ignoring Stefan trying to push her back down because it’s not as if he’s really paying attention anyway, Erzsébet crawls over him, making sure to drag her nails across his chest some more on the way. His dark eyes flick to her, and he makes a sound around Stefan that makes Stefan twitch in turn.

“Hm?” She raises her eyebrows, and Dragos narrows his eyes. “Didn’t catch that.”

He doesn’t reply, though, reacting by, impossibly, taking Stefan even deeper into his mouth until he tears up, still looking at Erzsébet. She bites her cheek, breathing hard through her nose, and reaches over to run her thumb across the corner of Dragos’s mouth, wrapped tight around Stefan’s cock. At that, he finally pulls back a little. Erzsébet smoothes her thumb up over a sharp cheekbone, the corner of a wet eye. His lashes catch on her fingernail when he blinks.

Swiping her tangled hair over her shoulder, Erzsébet leans in close enough that she’s sure Stefan can feel the ghost of her lips on his dick, watching Dragos watch her as he pulls away in turn. Stefan swipes his fingers down her neck, but doesn’t push.

When Dragos leans forward this time, he nudges his sharp nose against Erzsébet’s jaw, and when she dips her head, he drags a pointed tongue across it and up to her mouth. She resists biting it to kiss him, pulling him up with her. Stefan’s hand slips off her shoulder.

For a moment, she just kisses Dragos deeply but without aggression behind it, pushing their upper bodies together. He runs incredibly hot, and somehow she knows that he always does. She doesn’t think she was aware before, and now she’s probably always going to be.

Stefan loudly clears his throat, and when Dragos tries to pull away instinctively, Erzsébet pulls him back to her as she looks up at Stefan.

“What?” she asks, not conveying the nonchalance she meant to because Dragos is mouthing at her neck.

“Come back here,” Stefan replies, voice low and gravelly, and Erzsébet stops Dragos again, pushing her hips down for good measure.

“Who put you in charge?”

Dragos chuckles into the skin under her ear.

“I don’t see anyone else volunteering,” Stefan says, reaching for Dragos. Erzsébet slaps his wrist, batting his arm away and stopping him.

“Really?” She pushes Dragos away as well and crawls off him, pushing Stefan down instead, her messy hair dragging across his chest. “ _I_ don’t think you’re looking hard enough.”

“You’ve done it now, Stef,” Dragos comments, sounding amused and intrigued as he settles on his knees, watching.

Since _Stefan_ has voiced no objections to having his hair touched, Erzsébet pushes her hand into it and uses the short, dark strands to pull his head down until he’s lying flat on his back. When he starts to reach for her, Dragos moves lightning-quick to grab his arms and pin them down over his head. Stefan makes a strangled noise in his throats, his hips bucking. Dragos laughs, almost fondly.

“Yeah, no.” He leans forward, letting his face hover close over Stefan’s. “I don’t think you’re in charge.”

When he looks up at Erzsébet, she leans over as well, to kiss him deeply, making sure to open her mouth enough that Stefan is sure to see flashes of their tongues. And she really hates to say it, but Dragos is a _good kisser_ , all intensity and heat even when he’s not really being aggressive.

Stefan shifts again under her, groaning, and she grins into Dragos’s mouth until he bites her lip. Then, she grasps his chin with one hand, still holding Stefan’s head down with the other, and pushes him back while she slides forward. She lifts her knees over Stefan’s arms but keeps her eyes on Dragos as his nose brushes her pubic hair, she can feel his stubble scratch her thighs while she slowly kneels over his face.

“Him, in charge?” she asks Dragos, who snorts as she looks down at Stefan. “Didn’t think so.”

He glares up at her, or attempts to—the dilation of his pupils from between her legs sort of detracts from the attempt—and she smiles down sweetly, tucking her hair behind her ear. The way he looks is positively obscene, and she wishes she could take a picture of it. Instead, she just pulls his head up by his hair while canting her hips down, resting her other hand on Dragos’s chest for balance. Stefan groans against her, but doesn’t open his mouth or move whatsoever, so she pulls him down again.

“Do I need to spell it out, Borisov?”

“Who put _you_ in—”

She pushes her hips down this time, muffling the rest of his question and eliciting the tiniest gasp from herself as his lips move against her.

“I did. Come on, do something useful with your mouth if you’re just gonna ask stupid questions.”

Erzsébet can feel his arms flex under her legs, see his fingers moving under Dragos’s hands.

“I’ll let you go,” Dragos says, his thin fingers on Stefan’s wrists, covering the edge of a tattoo Erzsébet never noticed before on one of them. “Hm?”

Stefan muffles something else into Erzsébet, and she’s about to say something else when he opens his mouth and flicks his tongue out against her—and she just gasps instead. As soon as Dragos has let his arms go, Stefan is yanking them out from under her legs and gripping her thighs, pulling her down even more and moving his whole face against her, stubble scraping over her thighs, the sensitive skin of her vulva.

“You’re really going for it, huh?” Dragos observes drily, and he just grins when Erzsébet’s digs her nails into his battered chest. She tries to move her hips, but Stefan has a tight grip now, fingers digging into her thighs, and is relentlessly flicking her clit. He’s put both feet flat on the mattress as if to give himself leverage.

Erzsébet doesn’t know _what_ she was expecting, but somehow it wasn’t this enthusiasm.

“Jesus, _fuck_ , Stefan,” she gasps, resting her head on Dragos’s shoulder. Stefan actually chuckles, licking a long, messy line between her folds until his nose is pressed against her clit and he’s pushing the tip of his tongue into her. “You fucker, this is exactly what you wa-anted. Both of you are fucking— _ah_!”

When Dragos yanks at her hair, her whole body twitches, and he grins almost maniacally while he holds her head back and looks straight into her eyes, pushing his other hand down across her body until he has his fingers on either side of her clit. As he spreads them, Stefan keeps moving his mouth. He can easily close his lips around her clit now, and he suckles at it enough that Erzsébet’s toes curl, her legs straining.

“What was that about being in charge?” Dragos asks sweetly, his breath hot on her face.

“Fuck you,” she grits out, and he presses his fingers to her clit without warning while Stefan, as if they planned it, pushes his tongue into her again.

“Like I said, don’t get your hopes up.” He rubs hard circles around her. “Who knows, though.”

“That’s not a no, Bălan.”

Leaning forward, he murmurs against her lips, “It’s not a no, _Héderváry_.” And, when her hips buck hard, “Oh, does that sound good to you?”

The only thing she can do to reply to that is kiss him hard, dragging her nails across his back again because she _can_. He gasps into her mouth. Lets go of her hair to palm one of her breasts, to pinch the nipple. Her muscles are clenching all over now. She tries to force herself to relax, but just as soon as she does, Stefan does something with his tongue that has her throwing her head back on a shout, hands clenching.

“He’s good with his mouth, isn’t he?” Dragos says, and she can’t tell whether that’s just an observation or if he’s speaking from experience. “I wonder if he’d eat me out too.”

Erzsébet chokes out a curse at the image, and Stefan groans against her, his hips bucking.

“ _Oh_.” Dragos sounds honestly startled, and his hand stills for a second before it starts back up even harder. It’s hard to breathe, and Erzsébet gasps for air, rocking her hips between them. Stefan slaps her thighs, and she swears.

Her orgasm crashes over her suddenly, like lightning coursing through her body, and she hangs on to Dragos as much as she can, cursing through it.

“Look at that,” he breathes into her ear, and she bites his neck in return. “Ah! Fuck off, you—” He wrenches her head back again, winding her hair around his wrist and yanking his fingers away from her clit to push two of them into her mouth. He presses her tongue down until she bites, breathing harshly through her teeth as Stefan gives a last flick of her clit and starts sliding out from underneath her.

“Screw both of you,” she grits, and Stefan laughs breathily from behind her. Dragos smirks over at him, his eyes bright. Erzsébet growls, pinches one of his nipples.

He’s trying to wriggle his fingers out of her mouth—but she’s still biting down hard—when Stefan pulls his hand out of her hair and runs his own gently down her arms. As he moves forward, she can feel that he’s still hard, the length of him pressing into her back, and, _god_ , had she known he was hiding all _that_ underneath his terrible, old-fashioned clothes all this time…

Well, she probably wouldn’t have done anything, really, except maybe point it out to piss Dragos off.

Pissing Dragos off is only part of the reason she pushes back against Stefan, finally letting Dragos pull his fingers away to tip her head back on a sigh. Stefan mouths along her jaw, wetly.

“Both of you have terrible oral fixations, don’t you?”

“Are you complaining?” Stefan asks, barely whispering, and Erzsébet groans when he sucks the skin underneath her ear.

Before she has the chance to say anything, both men have pressed forward to kiss over her shoulder, Dragos breathing heavily into Stefan’s mouth, one arm resting on her shoulder to hold his neck. Stefan bucks his hips. Erzsébet slowly slides out from between them and tries to work her fingers through her hair as she watches them for a quiet moment. She should have just braided her hair, or at least put it in a ponytail, but it’s too late now.

Stefan is pushing against Dragos until he tries to lie back, and Erzsébet has to spring forward to prevent him from toppling off the bed, grabbing his shoulder.

“Oh my god!” he exclaims, then starts laughing while Stefan looks mostly sheepish. “Hey, I’m fine.”

“Hmm,” Stefan says, biting his lip. He holds his left hand out to Dragos, who grasps it to pull himself back up, and, as he grins delightedly, launches forward until _Stefan_ lies back down.

“You do look good like that,” Erzsébet says.

“Oh yeah, I bet you think that,” Stefan replies. “What are you planning to do, sit on my face again?”

She laughs.

“I think Dragos was wanting a turn, actually.”

At that, Stefan looks over at Dragos, who is straddling his thighs, hands on his chest. His eyes are wide—maybe questioning, maybe just aroused. Probably both, all things considered.

“I mean, I could,” Dragos tells him, obviously aiming for casual and missing it by a few hundred miles, his voice far too breathy and his fingers clenching too much. Stefan makes a low, keening noise in his throat that Erzsébet can’t help but echo.

“Could you?”

Dragos leans over until his lips almost touch Stefan’s, whose mouth is still wet.

“Do you think I didn’t come prepared? You said it yourself, I _thought_ about it.”

“You are _such_ a bottom, Bălan,” Erzsébet comments.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Dragos replies, looking over his shoulder. The grin on his face is almost worryingly wicked, and Erzsébet feels herself shiver. It’s not an unusual facial expression, for him, but she knows she will now think about this moment every time she sees it. It seems like Dragos might be aware as well.

“Fuck, are you serious?” Stefan breathes. When Dragos nods, he kisses him deeply, arching his whole body up into him, his cock bumping up against Dragos’s ass. Erzsébet can’t help but reach for it, push it more against him while Dragos rocks his skinny hips.

“You want him to fuck me.” It’s just an observation, not a question, so she doesn’t say anything. Stefan, for his part, just growls low in his throat and sits up, yanking at Dragos until he moves out of the way and then lying back down, pulling him along.

“Well, don’t waste all that preparation you did,” Erzsébet says, and Dragos mocks her even as he lets himself be maneuvered until he is mirroring her earlier position, and then his face abruptly goes slack, his eyes closing on a long moan. He puts his hands on Stefan’s chest again, curling into the hair there as he rocks his hips ever so slightly.

Although Erzsébet can’t see Stefan’s face, she _knows_ , now, that he has an unexpectedly wicked mouth, and she feels a wave of arousal crashing over her. Hand flying to her clit, she watches Dragos, even when he starts watching her back. When he reaches a hand out and runs it down her thigh, scratching the sensitive inside.

“Don’t you wonder?” he asks, breathily, grinning like a maniac when she shuffles closer to let him press the heel of his hand against her clit, grind it down harshly. “What he’d feel like inside of you?”

She swallows. Stefan bucks his hips.

Somehow, Dragos’s usual rasp, the oftentimes so annoying lisp that he has, manage to make his words sound confident. Arousing. He pushes his hand further between her legs, and Erzsébet tilts her hips back, still looking at him, until he slides two fingers into her.

“Do you think that’s what he imagined, Erzsébet, when— _fuck_ —he said he wanted us to get along?” He gasps for breath while Stefan grabs his thighs and pulls him down. “Both of us on top of him?”

“I think he should have,” she replies. Somehow, she isn’t even surprised that _that_ would make them agree on something.

In reply, Dragos curls his fingers inside her as if beckoning, and when she comes closer, he quickly pushes a third finger into her. Erzsébet clasps his wrist to hold his hand steady and pushes herself down on the thin digits. When he swears, she pulls his whole hand away, yanking it up to her mouth while she sits across from him, straddling Stefan’s hips and pushing her ass against his cock.

“And _I’m_ the one with an oral fixation,” Dragos says, as if he isn’t fixated on her lips around his fingers, her tongue running along all of them.

Stefan makes a muffled questioning noise that both of them can’t help but laugh at, Erzsébet releasing Dragos’s hand and leaning back, her own hands on Stefan’s thighs.

“Continue.”

Unsurprisingly, he complies fast, replacing his three fingers while Erzsébet pushes into Stefan’s cock until the man’s legs twitch underneath her hands and he’s groaning into Dragos.

When Dragos starts leaning forward, she pushes him back.

“Hey!”

He glares at her, brown eyes blazing.

“I’m not letting those fucking teeth of yours anywhere near my vagina.”

“That’s _your fucking loss_ then, Héderváry.”

“Oh, is it, _Bălan_?”

In response, he kisses her harshly—or just meshes his mouth against hers, biting her lips and driving another slick finger into her—until she sharply slaps his cheek, after which he sucks in a sharp breath and clenches his teeth, throwing his head back.

“Of course,” Erzsébet says drily, and he can’t glare because Stefan’s caught on and is clapping a hand flat against his ass and yet his fingers are somehow still moving inside of her.

She slaps his face again, a little harder, and he curses, rocks his hips hard against Stefan.

“ _Bottom_ ,” Erzsébet observes once more. Dragos grins his maniacal grin again, panting through his teeth, and pinches her nipple while he pulls his fingers out of her, rubbing them none-too-subtly across her clit before reaching further between her legs. His teeth are on her neck and his free hand prodding at her thigh until she lifts her hips, and he pulls Stefan’s cock up, lifting his own ass as well so she can hear the man panting while Dragos palms his cock, rubbing it against Erzsébet’s clit.

“Dra,” Stefan gasps, and Dragos is looking at her questioningly as she lifts her hips again and she can feel him press the blunt, wide head of the man’s dick against her.

“Well?” she asks. She knows, of course, what he’s waiting for, but Erzsébet knows herself, and she knows she gets wet enough to take almost anything without needing help. So she pushes down, relishing Dragos’s surprised gasp and Stefan’s strangled moan when he pushes into her, pulsing heat filling her. Dragos turns his hand over and runs his fingers along the place where they meet back up to her clit, which he presses his fingertips against while Erzsébet moves shallowly.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Stefan is breathing, his hips bucking and his fingers digging into Dragos’s thighs. When he pulls himself up, Erzsébet can feel the muscles of his abdomen moving under her own fingers where she’s using his chest as leverage to move herself.

She moves her hands to Dragos’s hips when he leans into her, dropping his head on her shoulder, scraping his teeth against her skin while he pants into it.

“You _didn’t think about it_ , huh?” he rasps. “Not a passing thought spared to me. Not one fantasy about getting me on my knees—” He yanks her head by her hair and bites her neck hard. “Nothing on having Stefan fuck me while you could _watch_?”

Erzsébet gasps for breath, every muscle in her body clenching. Stefan, in response to that, puts his feet on the mattress to press his hips up, and she leans against his knees, pushing herself further down on his cock. He fills her deliciously, the stretch a surprise every time he slides in and out. Dragos just grins that grin again as he looks at her, pupils blown wide amid the rusty brown of his eyes.

“You imagined fucking me yourself, didn’t you? Every time I’d speak, you were just imagining me— _fuck_ —like this, just— Whoa!” He interrupts himself to shout when he suddenly pitches forward, because Stefan is sitting up, pushing him away.

“You can’t say something like that and not expect something to happen,” he says, almost absently, while he maneuvers until Erzsébet is on her back, his cock barely still inside her, and Dragos is busy crawling over her.

“And what _is_ happen—” Again, he cuts himself off, and Erzsébet can’t see what’s happening but she can see Stefan reaching for the lube he tossed on the bed earlier, awkwardly. He can’t reach it until she grabs it for him, and then before he can offer a thanks, she pushes herself down on his cock and all he can do is gasp.

“Come on, Borisov, multi-task,” she teases.

“Fuck off,” he replies, but he does grab her hip with his free hand to hold her still while he slams into her.

Dragos is panting heavily above her, the tip of his cock dragging wet smears between her breasts. She scratches his chest, his sides.

“Not so talkative now, are you?”

“Not so in charge now, are you?”

In response to that, she slaps his side hard, and he makes a sound that’s almost a moan and almost a sob, and altogether enough to make her clench her teeth and try to rub herself again, until Stefan yanks her arm away.

“Asshole,” she pants at him. With her head thrown back, she can see Dragos’s face, and how he’s looking at her, his hair stringy around his wild eyes. “ _What_?”

He doesn’t say anything, but does slowly reach for her, keeping himself steady with one hand as he trails his fingers over her forehead, her cheekbone. Stefan is only shallowly moving inside of her now, obviously more focused on whatever he’s doing to Dragos. Well, _whatever_ —Erzsébet can imagine just fine how he’s working those bony fingers of his into Dragos, how Dragos is undoubtedly taking them easily, eagerly.

Dragos has spread his hand across her cheek, his pinky hooking into a corner of her mouth, and he’s still looking at her. She still looks back, and she nearly misses how he crawls slowly forward, at least until his cock slides against her chin and he finally lets go of her face while Stefan grumbles.

“ _Really_?” she hisses, Dragos’s dick slipping over her lips, and then she yelps—although it sounds more like a moan—when Stefan pulls at her hips with both hands, canting them up and starting to move in earnest again. “Fuck!”

“Really,” Dragos says, and so she glares at him and grabs his cock, sliding her mouth around it. He swears, and swears louder when Stefan lets go of Erzsébet with one hand again, his cock twitching hotly against her tongue. She smirks, only taking a minimal amount of care in keeping her teeth out of the way.

For a while, they stay like that, Erzsébet rocking back and forth between the two men while Stefan quietly works his fingers into a panting Dragos, whose knees Erzsébet has curled her hands around.

Eventually, Dragos’s panting takes the shapes of both Stefan and Erzsébet’s names, sometimes both at the same time somehow, and Erzsébet pulls her head away because he sounds way too close to coming undone before Stefan has even had the chance to fuck him.

As if they planned it, Stefan pulls out of her at that moment, leaning forward again, and Dragos slaps the bed with a shout. Awkwardly, Erzsébet wriggles herself out from underneath him and watches Stefan hold him in place, his fingers indenting his skinny hips white while he pulls his face back up, his mouth slick and his eyes intensely focused. He sways towards Erzsébet as if he’s going to kiss her, but changes his mind at the last second, at which she chuckles.

“Maybe later, Borisov.” She grabs the lube where it’s lying on the mattress, pumps some into her hand, and wraps her fingers around Stefan’s cock, slicking it more thoroughly. Dragos looks over his shoulder, shaking his hair out of his face. He watches them, gaze flicking between Erzsébet and Stefan, and Erzsébet _really_ wishes she could kiss Stefan but he’d definitely need to rinse his mouth at least, so she just mouths along his stubbly jaw while Dragos pushes his ass backwards, obviously eager. She can’t resist clapping her hand flat on it, and he growls.

“You’re just jealous,” he pants, but then Stefan is pulling at his hips, lining up his cock with the man’s ass and pushing the head in with seemingly no resistance, and Erzsébet doesn’t feel jealous in the slightest. Horribly aroused, and captivated by every movement Stefan and Dragos make, the noises that escape Dragos as Stefan pushes more and more of his cock into him, but not jealous.

Stefan has both hands on Dragos’s ass, and he rocks back and forth, every time filling him more. Erzsébet trails her fingers along Dragos’s side, pushes her hand down on his neck, her fingers in his hair.

“You should see him, Bălan,” she drawls. “You should see _yourself_. God, I’ve never liked you more.”

He abruptly pushes himself all the way down on Stefan’s cock, reaching for Erzsébet with one hand at the same time, yanking at her arm to pull her over. He kisses her, bites her jaw. Pulls at her hair.

“The feeling is _mutual_ , Héderváry.” He pushes himself up, the muscles in his stomach clenching visibly while he reaches backward for Stefan, who runs his mouth along his battered neck, helping to hold him up and letting him go again to let him sprawl over Erzsébet, pushing her shoulders into the mattress and taking a nipple into his mouth.

“ _Fuck_ ,” she groans. The weight of him rocks into her every time Stefan moves, every time he fucks into Dragos. He licks the hollow of her throat while she scratches his upper arms, his back. Stefan is holding his shoulder, and she digs her nails into _his_ arm as well, until he gives Dragos a particularly intense shove and the man curses into her skin.

His hands are still on her shoulders, but, as he pulls his head back and grins his maniacal grin, he releases one to grab at one of her legs instead, pulling until she cants her hips up, and then Stefan is still for a short moment, just long enough for Dragos to, easily, quickly, slide his cock into her. She gasps, reaches for his hip with her free hand and finds Stefan’s there, her fingers catching the dusting of hair on his knuckles.

Now, every movement that Stefan makes is echoed in Dragos. Every time he thrusts into Dragos, Dragos fucks into Erzsébet, his face just over hers, breathing the same air.

“Can you feel that?” he hisses. “Can— _fuck_ —you feel—”

She bites his lip, and he shuts up.

“I wish I could fuck you,” she breathes after she lets go, the words unexpectedly soft. When Dragos kisses her, he smears the new trickle of blood across her lips, and he follows it with his tongue.

Then, suddenly, he stops moving and whines, looking over his shoulder at Stefan.

“What?” Erzsébet asks. “Come on, Borisov, what the fuck?”

“ _Stef_ ,” Dragos says, still whiney, and Erzsébet slaps his side although she agrees with him. “Oh, fuck off.”

Stefan, for his part, is doing the absentminded thing again. He gazes over at the two of them like a king looking at his court, and wasn’t _Erzsébet_ in charge here? She sits up, pushing Dragos over—belatedly realizing she either pulled Stefan out of him or he already withdrew—and tangling her fingers in Stefan’s matted hair.

“What the _hell_ is going on here?” she demands. Stefan looks at her, focuses for a long moment, and smirks.

“Don’t worry about it, Erzsébet. I’ve got it under control.”

“ _You’ve_ got it—”

He yanks her head back by her hair and runs a finger down her throat. She breathes rapidly through her nose, watching him out of the corners of her eyes as he shuffles to the side of the bed, only letting go of her when he’s _standing up_ , and Dragos is muttering bewildered curses as well.

“You’re getting along very well,” Stefan says, slowly although his breathing is still high.

“No, we’re fucking not,” Dragos says.

“You _better be_ ,” he growls, seemingly finding his footing, and Erzsébet isn’t sure how she feels about this weird interruption but she _does_ like that side of him. “You better be, or I’m not coming back.”

“Coming back from wh—” Before Dragos can finish his sentence, Stefan has shot into the bathroom and slammed the door shut behind him. “What the _fuck_!”

“ _Get along_ ,” he repeats, muffled through the door.

“I’ll fucking show you getting along,” Dragos mumbles. “We’ll get along so fucking well, we won’t even need you.”

Erzsébet looks over at him, eyebrows raised, but he’s already on her, pushing her back down and sliding his cock back into her in the same movement, holding her by the back of her head and the curve of her knee while he rapidly thrusts into her. For a moment, she can only gasp, paw back at him until the angle of his cock makes her body twitch every time he slams into her, raising her hips off the mattress.

“ _Dragos_ ,” she hears herself gasp, and the man grins delightedly. In response to that, she launches herself forward, losing the angle inside of her but at least allowing her to pin him down on the mattress, practically spread-eagled under her—and isn’t _that_ a thought. She watches him for a moment, and allows herself to think that there’s a sort of weirdly lopsided attractiveness to him, at least like this, with all his sharp angles spread out, bruises on his neck and scratch marks all over his body. Maybe, she can remember this next time he pisses her off.

Or maybe, next time he pisses her off, she’ll just slap him and make him bend over—

He tries to wrestle himself free, but she’s stronger than he is and pins him more firmly under her.

“Do I have to remind you who’s in charge?”

“Was I not just fucking you?” he growls. “Was I not just _inside_ you? Who’s the one that just _moaned_ my name?”

She slaps his cheek, then grabs his cock and sinks down on it, still pinning one arm down.

“None of that means you’re in charge, _Dragos_.” She vows to make him _shout_ her name before this is over. Grasps his sharp chin between her fingers. “Seems I do have to remind you.”

From the bathroom, Stefan calls, “It doesn’t sound like you’re getting along!”

Erzsébet rolls her eyes and starts moving her hips, letting go of Dragos altogether to lean back, to try and find that angle again. He puts his hands on her knees, elbows on the mattress, and bucks his hips, smiling almost conspiratorially at her as if making fun of Stefan. It actually makes Erzsébet chuckle, the innocuousness of it, the thought of how everyone who even marginally knows them would be baffled by the fact that they can even exist in the same space, let alone… _This_.

When she breathes out a moan, closing her eyes, Dragos runs both of his hands up her thighs, softly. It’s a strange moment, and she doesn’t really want to break it by opening her eyes. Dragos is quiet as well, his movements slow and his breathing heavy but even.

“Erzsébet,” he breathes. She swallows. Pushes her fingers down her thighs until they thread through his, still not looking and ever moving slowly.

“I wonder if _this_ is what Stefan had in mind,” she says, and when she opens his eyes, Dragos is laughing and reaching for her, pulling her down over him and kissing her. Honestly kissing her, deep and slow, no teeth anywhere, and _fuck_ , it’s almost too much. Erzsébet digs her nails into his back, pulling him up to her, crushing their chests together. His cock presses even more into her, and he groans into her mouth, echoing her whispered curse.

Abruptly, she pushes him back down, harshly enough that he bounces on the mattress, and she opens her mouth to call out to Stefan that he fucking got what he wanted so to quit his bullshit, but then there are hands on her shoulders all of a sudden, the familiar—she realizes it’s familiar only now—scent of old-fashioned aftershave surrounding her. Dragos’s hips buck, so he must not have seen Stefan coming either.

They were too caught up in each other, as always, but in a very different way.

“That’s what I’m talking about,” Stefan whispers into her ear. She stiffens enough that Dragos groans.

“If you pull that kind of shit again, I’m locking you in the bathroom, Borisov.”

“Sure,” he replies, cheerily. And then he’s pulling her backwards, off Dragos, and wrapping his arms around her waist, and—

“You’ve _got_ to be shitting me,” she blurts.

“Seems like you’re the only person that didn’t come prepared.” He licks along the shell of her ear while he loops the straps of the fucking _strap-on_ he’s pulled out of nowhere around her legs. “If you want to fuck him so badly, why don’t you?”

Erzsébet looks over at Dragos, who just grins, fixated by the very pink dildo protruding from between her legs. It’s not as big as Stefan’s cock, but it’s certainly something, and _fuck_ , she does want to fuck him. Wants to make him scream, still, maybe let everyone in the hotel _know_ just how much she and Dragos can _get along_.

“You’re an asshole,” she tells Stefan, who just chuckles deeply and puts his chin on her shoulder.

“You can say that all you want, but look where you are.”

“I like Dragos more than you,” she says, trying to sound haughty. Dragos laughs hoarsely.

“I’m not convinced. Show me?” As he says this, he pushes himself against her back, and she doesn’t know whether he was still hard after whatever he did in the bathroom, but he’s certainly hard now, the length of him sliding up against her ass. He puts his arms around her, stroking one hand against Dragos’s leg and using the other to steady the dildo. Erzsébet’s breath is high in her throat, just imagining Dragos taking it.

“Come on, Héderváry,” the man in question goads. “Are you just afraid of giving me what I want?”

In any other situation, yes. Even if it puts her at a disadvantage, yes. But not now. He’s canting his hips up, and Stefan is pushing her forward, and Erzsébet lets him push until the smooth head of the dildo is against Dragos’s ass, and she can feel it put pressure on herself as well, pressing into her clit.

“Borisov,” she starts, but he’s ahead of her and is already stroking the vinyl with a lubed-up hand, until Dragos whines and _presses_ , and it’s slipping into him with little resistance. “ _Fuck_!”

“Yeah, get on with it,” he hisses. His hips buck violently when Erzsébet slaps his face, more of the dildo pressing into his ass.

Leaning over, she grasps his sharp chin, forcing him to look at her while she presses further, the friction making her gasp as well. Dragos’s eyes are dark, so dark that nearly none of the rusty brown color is visible, and a flush has spread all the way down his neck, highlighting the bruises and scratches and he’s never looked better to her. She digs her blunt nails into his jaw, bends his legs over his torso. Stefan is just holding her hips now, his hands warm over the straps and his cock rocking between her thighs.

“Borisov, you better have a new condom,” she says over her shoulder.

“Yes, _ma’am_ ,” he replies, almost drily, but it sends a ripple of pleasure through her all the same.

“At least someone respects me,” she tells Dragos, who smiles impishly and bucks his hips, burying all of her dildo in his ass. “And it isn’t you.”

She snaps her hips back, holds them there for a suspended moment during which Dragos watches, eyes wide and mouth open silently, and then thrusts forward. Dragos’s eyes close, his mouth forms a sound that’s a moan and a shout at once, and Erzsébet hears herself make a strangled sound in response. The friction isn’t enough to make her come, not when she already has, but that doesn’t even matter because she thinks just the sight of him might do it. The arch of his back as she fucks him, the glazed-over look in his eyes when they open, looking between her and Stefan, whose breath is hot on her neck, the way he just lets her pin his hands to the mattress when he goes to touch himself.

“Jesus Christ,” she pants. “Fucking—god, you look so fucking good like that, Bălan.”

He just gasps in response, and it’s not her name but it’s something that sounds like it for sure. She tries to change her angle, resting her forehead against his heaving chest while Stefan palms her breasts, pinches her nipples, Dragos wraps one of his skinny legs around her thigh.

Stefan’s arm is snaking around her, grasping Dragos’s cock, and she pulls it away. _She_ wants to make him come undone, and if she can’t do it by fucking him alone, she’ll take of that herself—until he screams her name.

Now deterred, Stefan pulls at her hair instead. She swears, her back arching at the painful pleasure that rolls through her. And then, while she’s distracted, his other hand is between her legs, and there are fingers sliding into her while his thumb presses down over her ass. She looks at Dragos because there’s nowhere else Stefan will let her look, her thrusts slowing somewhat.

“What?” he pants. “What, Héderváry? Tell me.”

“Stefan, you know you can’t—”

“I’m not planning to, don’t worry,” he says, and at least he sounds a little out of breath as well. Judging by the widening of Dragos’s eyes, he must look the part. Another finger slides into Erzsébet, and she moans.

“Erzsébet,” Dragos insists, and instead of explaining, she kisses him—uncontrolled, messy, his hands replacing Stefan’s in her hair as she lets go of them. She pants into his mouth, him biting her lip, while Stefan pulls his fingers out of her, grasps her hips with both hands to still them for a second, and presses into her. He still fills her deliciously. His girth pulses inside her. He sighs, and Erzsébet makes a keening noise into Dragos’s mouth that the man gasps at—or maybe that’s the jerk of her hips when Stefan bottoms out.

“It’s like he’s fucking both of us,” Dragos rasps. “Is that what you thought of, Stef? It must have been.”

“So he knows how much of a bottom you are,” Erzsébet pants, and then neither of them says anything because Stefan starts moving, quick and hard as if he can read her mind. “Fuck, Stefan!”

It’s just like before, except Dragos is now the one being fucked through her, his hands scrabbling at her back, her hair dragging across his chest—at least until Stefan gathers it all and uses it to pull her head up just enough that she _has_ to look at Dragos, at his wild eyes, his gasping mouth.

Nothing could have prepared her for this. If someone told her this morning this was how she’d be ending her day, she’d have decked them. And somehow, it still feels like this has been a long time coming. Like maybe Stefan had a point.

She should listen to him more often.

“Erzsébet,” Dragos gasps. Stefan is grunting wordlessly. The constant slide of his cock inside her, filling her and then pulling back, is almost enough to make her come but not quite.

“ _Dragos_ ,” she replies, almost too low to hear. Stefan yanks on her hair, and she whines. Reaches for Dragos’s cock with one hand. His eyes widen. Stefan lets go of her hair to pull her the slightest bit up, giving her enough room to wrap her hand around Dragos, to watch the thrust of the dildo in and out of him.

“ _Please_.” He throws his head back on a shout when she strokes him, and she feels herself clench around Stefan in return. The man bites her shoulder, grasps her breasts again while she watches Dragos intently, palming his cock. After a moment’s consideration, she peels the condom off him, knowing it’s not the smartest thing she’s ever done but also not the dumbest by far.

“Come _on_ , Bălan,” she says.

“Fuck,” he gasps in reply, as she twists her wrist. “Erzsébet, please just—”

Stefan holds his legs now, keeping him still while Erzsébet speeds up her strokes, both her hips and her hand. He’s almost still himself, letting her push down on his cock and forward into Dragos.

“Erzs—” Dragos cuts himself off on a moan, and his back is arching as he grasps at the mattress with abandon. “ _Erzsébet_!”

She swears on a moan, her toes curling, and on the next flick of her wrist, he’s coming, spurting over her hand and his own stomach, the muscles of which are visibly clenching under the battered skin. He keeps gasping her name, and she can feel herself getting so close to the edge she almost tips over it, Stefan grunting into her neck as she tightens around him, but she keeps herself together.

Barely, though, when Dragos, still bucking his hips and gasping for air, yanks her hand away from his cock and runs his mouth along her fingers. The sound she makes is almost a sob, and Stefan isn’t much better as he bites her shoulder again.

She’s practically sitting straight up on her knees when Dragos manages to push himself backwards enough that the dildo slides out of him, springing straight up as if ready to go another round. Stefan doesn’t seem like the bottoming type, but maybe, Erzsébet catches herself thinking, maybe another time…

While Dragos wipes himself off with the abandoned sheets, Stefan keeps thrusting into her, his strokes speeding up again and his knees between hers forcing her legs apart. He fumbles with the straps around her thighs until they snap open, and she tosses the strap-on away. When she reaches for herself, he pulls both of her arms back, laughing breathlessly at her answering whine.

“Fuck you, Borisov,” she grits.

“You _wish_.” He leans far enough back to he has to stretch his legs out until he’s lying flat on the mattress again, his feet planted on it to keep fucking her, and she _can_ , she absolutely can come without being touched but not now.

“Stefan, please,” she gasps, tugging at her arms, but he doesn’t give in.

“I’m not the one you should be begging.” His thrusts are already becoming more erratic. It can’t take long now before he comes undone as well. She tries to free her arms again, to no avail. Dragos is watching them, gaze still intense. She tries to glare at him, but her whole body twitches and she just lets out a shuddering moan instead.

“Well?” Dragos is saying. He shuffles forward, and kisses her, or just swallows her moans and gasps, running one hand down the crease of her thigh, _so close_.

“Please,” she chokes out, closing her eyes. “Dragos, please…”

Of course, he just continues the same trajectory with his hand, making it clear he’s not ever going to get where she wants him, and Stefan gasps a satisfied little laugh on a particularly sharp thrust. She bites Dragos’s lip.

“Have you changed your mind about my teeth?” he asks, pulling back. His eyes are hooded, the brown still hardly visible.

“Dragos, shut the hell up and eat me out.” She wants to slap him again, but her hands are still being held behind her back, and anyway he’s already following the order, putting his hands on her thighs, and when she leans back as much as she comfortably can, his mouth on her clit.

There are teeth, of course, but she doesn’t even mind them in the frenzy of movement that is Dragos swiping his tongue between her folds—touching Stefan too, by his gasp and the stutter of his hips—flicking her clit and moving his whole face against her until she’s gasping his name and Stefan lets her arms go so she can dig her nails into his shoulders as she comes, hot pleasure washing over her. She twitches, clenches around Stefan; her legs want to close on instinct but they can’t, and then he’s coming as well, his hips snapping up and staying still while he pulses hot inside her, his fingers undoubtedly leaving bruises on her hips with how much they tighten. It makes the heat coursing through her body thrum that more intensely, and she curls her toes again.

He doesn’t say her name, or Dragos’s, but she’ll take the long, heavy moan he finishes on, Dragos’s satisfied hum against her, still licking and sucking through the last tremors of her orgasm.

“Dragos,” she breathes, and he looks up at her, licking his lips. She doesn’t know what to say. He’s silent as well, as he drags his mouth up her sweaty stomach, licks between her breasts and kisses up her throat as she tilts her head back. Stefan is sitting up, grunting, his cock moving inside her. Dragos kisses him over her shoulder, and when they part, she claims Stefan’s mouth for herself. He tastes minty, and his stubble is wet where it rasps against her skin.

Dragos pulls her away from him with both his hands on her face, into one of those deep, slow kisses with no teeth and no biting whatsoever, and she doesn’t even try to scratch him in return, just runs her hands down his chest slowly until they rest on his thighs and he’s pulling her off Stefan’s cock. She shudders and sighs a last time when he slips out of her. When Dragos pulls back, she holds his gaze for a moment before letting herself fall over to lie on the bed, stretching her arms and legs and watching the men reach for each other over her to kiss again.

“You happy, Borisov?” she asks, the words slurring together slightly. He looks down at her.

“Yes.” He runs a hand down his chin. “Much more than I expected.”

She has to wonder how long he’s wanted to tell them to fuck, to just how many meetings he dragged that strap-on. To how many more after this one he’s planning to drag it. Maybe she’ll ask. Not now, though.

“I feel like a mess,” she mumbles.

“You look like a mess,” Dragos says, almost affectionately, and he flops over next to her, turning on his side and trailing his thin fingers across her stomach.

“Probably not as much as you.”

“You’re hogging my bed,” Stefan says, and Erzsébet pulls him down on her other side. There’s enough space if they just stay close together, and she could really use a nap before she starts to think about what comes next. “Fine. Stay there, then.”

He gets up, and Erzsébet watches with one eye while he pads to the bathroom again. The tap runs for a moment, and then he’s back with washcloths, which he lobs at both of them. Dragos snickers lazily as he haphazardly wipes the thing across his body. Erzsébet is feeling a little too boneless to do the same, so she puts the warm, damp cloth on her stomach and closes her eyes, almost drifting off in the two seconds before the cloth is picked up again and swiped across her brow, and she opens her eyes to see Stefan shaking his head fondly.

“I gotta do everything around here,” he says, voice low, and Erzsébet shrugs minimally. She sighs when he dabs the cloth on her neck, down her stomach and between her thighs.

“Fucking sleep, Stefan,” Dragos slurs from next to her. “’M sure we’ll figure it out when we wake up.”

“What he said,” Erzsébet confirms. “See? We’re getting along great. Well done, Borisov.”

He doesn’t say anything, just unfurls a second set of sheets, draping it over their lower bodies, and pushes Erzsébet more into Dragos to fit into the bed next to her. She grins at the ceiling.

The last thing she notices before she falls asleep is both Stefan and Dragos curling an arm across her stomach.

**Author's Note:**

> [Also on Tumblr!](https://quiettoxic.tumblr.com/post/189561159213/whos-ready-for-some-cursed-content-i-have)
> 
> God why do I feel so awkward tagging sex acts,, I just wrote over ten thousand words of sex acts but tagging them is so awkward.


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